


Rodney McKay and the Hot-Blooded Pilot

by FabulaRasa



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-11
Updated: 2010-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabulaRasa/pseuds/FabulaRasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new Harry Potter book is finally out! And the list is long of Atlanteans who'd like to get their hands on a copy. Too bad Rodney has the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rodney McKay and the Hot-Blooded Pilot

"Come in."

Rodney did not look up as the door whooshed open, or glance at the figure that sauntered slowly in, leaning just inside the doorframe in what he no doubt considered an artfully casual pose.

"Major. Something I can do for you?"

"Nah. Just seeing what you were doing."

Rodney flipped the page of his book, again without looking up. "I think you can see what I'm doing."

"Yes. Yes I can." There was a pause, during which Sheppard clearly expected an invitation to sit. After a minute, apparently deciding it would be a long wait, he perched himself at the edge of the bed Rodney was propped on. "So," he began, but Rodney cut him short.

"Put your name on the list."

"The list?" he said, raising his eyebrows in elaborate surprise. Rodney rolled his eyes – or would have, if it hadn't meant lifting his eyes from the page.

"Yes, Major, the list affixed to the lab door. The one you were looking at before you came here."

"Oh. Right. The list." Sheppard nodded thoughtfully. "Pretty long list, there."

"Is it? I haven't checked it since before dinner, but I would estimate it's up to, what, sixteen names now?"

"Seventeen, in fact."

"Really? Well, well, business has been brisk. Did you add your name?"

Sheppard scratched at the back of his neck. "Well, not exactly."

"Not interested, huh? Didn't think it was your sort of thing." Rodney flipped the page.

"Well, you know. I'm really more of a Tolstoy kinda guy."

Rodney was nodding, his eyes still moving steadily across the page. "That's what I figured."

"I mean, we're talking about what is basically a _children's_ book, anyway."

"Yep," Rodney agreed.

"And it's not like I have lots of time on my hands for reading, anyway."

"Nope."

Sheppard drummed his fingers on the bedspread.

"Stop, please."

"Sorry." Sheppard studied the ceiling. "So, just out of idle curiosity. . ."

"Chocolate or coffee only."

"Guess I could have seen that one coming. How much you asking?"

"Of chocolate, three candy bars, minimum. If it's gourmet or homemade, I'll consider taking less. Cocoa is also acceptable, though it will have to be at least a dozen packets. Coffee has a similarly graded scale – French roast is obviously more valuable than Folger's, but all will be considered. Decaf unacceptable. And you get four days."

"Four _days_? That doesn't seem like a lot."

"Six hundred and fifty-two pages. Four days is plenty of time."

"That's a hundred sixty-three pages a day!"

"Congratulations, Major, you pass third grade. Now if you don't mind?" He made a little shooing motion with the hand that wasn't holding the book.

"How the hell did you manage this anyway, McKay?"

"Manage what?"

He gestured at the book. "This. I mean, what, you placed your order with Amazon before we left, or something?"

"Of course. It's not my fault you didn't plan ahead. Couldn't have planned the Daedalus arrival any better, really." He reached absently for a power bar on the nightstand and bit off a chunk. "I also got the Sixth Sense DVD, how cool is that? My sister sent it. She may be marginally less annoying than I remember her being."

"So you got a care package."

Rodney glanced up warily. "I guess you could call it that."

"You're a lucky man, McKay."

"Is this where I'm supposed to feel sorry for you?"

"_Sorry_ for me? Oh, please, come on. I mean, just because I willingly tossed aside my life so that you could survive to receive your next Amazon shipment – why should you feel sorry for me, or even remotely, you know, grateful?"

"Hmph. For someone who has tossed aside his life, you seem to be remarkably present. And, I might add, talking."

"Look, McKay—"

"Still talking." He flipped a page.

Sheppard sighed. "Look, McKay. I was hoping we could. . ." He made a vague gesture. "Work something out."

"I am open to negotiation. Nguyen is paying me in footrubs, for instance. I think you'll find I can be a generous man."

"Footrubs."

"Yep. Nightly for three weeks. She gave me a sample so I would know how to evaluate her contribution. She's quite good. I bumped her ahead of Carmichael, even. All he's putting up is Maxwell House, anyway."

"Uh huh. So there's room for. . . personal considerations, on this list."

"Major. Would you by any chance be here in the hopes of trading on our friendship?"

"What? Are you—oh, give me a break. Look, just forget it, okay?" He flopped back on the bed, tapping his fingers on his chest. "So."

"Mm."

"Is it any good?"

Rodney shrugged, frowning a little at the page.

"Okay. Well." He stared at the ceiling for a minute. "Teyla said you were pretty amazing, facing down those Wraith."

Rodney's eyes skidded briefly up. "She—did, did she?"

"Yep. Said after the Marines went down, you opened up your Beretta and emptied a full clip into the first one. Said you were pretty badass."

"Huh." He tilted his head, feeling a warmth in his chest that Teyla had tactfully omitted the part where his clip clattered on the floor without a single shot being fired. "Teyla said I was badass, really?"

"Well, I'm paraphrasing."

He narrowed his eyes. "Major, you wouldn't by any chance be trying to get on my good side, would you?"

"Why, you got one?"

"Not at the moment, no. Listen, you want a crack at the book, you'll have to cough up the caffeine or come up with something, just like everybody else."

"Oh, get over yourself, McKay! It's not like I give a crap about your stupid book, anyway."

Rodney kept his eyes on his page. "Oh, that's very mature, why don't you just—" He broke off and sat up straighter.

"Rodney? What's the matter?"

"Oh my God."

"Rodney?"

"Oh. OH my God." He gasped, eyes wide on the book. "I can't believe it – she can't really—"

"What? WHAT?"

"I am not believing this," Rodney whispered.

"Goddamn it, McKay!" Sheppard twisted and lunged for the book, but in an instant Rodney had leaped off the bed in evasive maneuvering that at any other time would have done his combat trainer proud.

"Hah! I knew it!" He grinned gleefully, waving the thick green book overhead. "I knew it, Mister Tolstoy! Say it! Say 'Rodney, please please please let me borrow your book, oh pretty pretty please.' Oh ho ho, Mister I-don't-give-a-crap, Mister it's-just-a-children's-book, beg for it! Go on, grovel!"

"Rodney," Sheppard growled, warningly.

Rodney waggled the book. "You can looky, but you no touchy," he singsonged.

"All right, that's it!" Sheppard launched himself off the bed and landed on McKay, who gave a startled splutter as the air left his lungs. "I'll just be kicking your ass now, I think."

"Bring it, flyboy!" He twisted and brought up a knee, but Sheppard was too fast, rolling them over and into the wall. "Oof! Ow! Stop, you're – ow!" He pushed back and rolled them the other direction, using his greater bulk to gain some momentum. This was demented. The book had skidded away into the corner, Sheppard's fingers were digging into his shoulders, but if he could just wedge his leg between Sheppard's like Teyla had showed him, he could throw him off. But Sheppard was hard to shake, and most irritating of all, he was laughing like a maniac, just shaking with it, which was galling – Sheppard couldn't have really been trying, for one thing, and here he was, huffing and puffing as they rolled now this way, now that – "Goddamn it, Major!"

His head hit the wall with a smack, and he felt Sheppard's grip ease. In remorse, probably. "Oh, this is exceptionally mature," he gasped, his head ringing a little.

"Yeah, 'cause making Nguyen rub your stinky feet is so very adult of you," Sheppard smirked down at him. "I'm not letting you up until you agree to scan each and every chapter and download them to every laptop in this city, so get comfortable, McKay."

Yes, well, that was the problem, wasn't it. He was starting to get just a little too comfortable, and he swallowed against a sudden dryness, feeling the panic begin to skitter in his chest. One slight move, and Sheppard would – "Fine, fine, just let me up."

"You'll do it?"

"I'll—yes, yes."

"No more extortion?" Sheppard shifted just a bit, his thigh brushing upward in preparation for a dismount, and oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Sheppard had frozen, his eyes on Rodney as his thigh undoubtedly registered the presence of the erection that throbbed just underneath it. Fuck fuck fuck. He squeezed his eyes shut against the shame, feeling the blood – what there was above his waist – flood his face. This was so far worse than anything he could have imagined. His wildest, most excruciating nightmares could not have some close to this. This was the junior high lunchroom and the 6th grade dance, all rolled into one. But maybe. . . maybe this was normal. Maybe this happened to jocks all the time. Maybe Sheppard wouldn't think anything of it. Maybe he hadn't noticed. Maybe he would forget all about it when Rodney vomited all over him. He swallowed again, uncomfortably aware of how loud it was in the room gone suddenly quiet, and struggled to form a word.

And then his heart did actually stop beating, because Sheppard moved again. Slowly this time, deliberately. Shifting over. Over until Rodney could feel—good fucking God. Until he could feel Sheppard's own erection, pressing back. _Oh_, his brain said. _Oh oh oh I see_, but his hips were already there, and were lifting up, pressing back. Sheppard's head was bowed, his hands braced on either side of Rodney's head, his eyes somewhere on the floor.

"Fuck," Sheppard breathed, hardly audible.

Their rocking motion was barely perceptible at first, and Rodney couldn't say who started it, only that they were moving back and forth, back and forth, and there was a long warm hardness pressed into his own, and holy shit, it felt so good. So long, so long it had been since anything but his own businesslike hand on his dick. _Friction friction friction!_ whooped his brain, and of themselves his hands came around and cupped Sheppard's ass, not in any sort of caress, but because that was the only way to push him in harder, more, faster, but the ass beneath his fingers tautened and clenched and oh, Jesus, felt so good. _So good so good so good_, and he wasn't aware he had said it aloud until Sheppard's voice in his ear said, "Yeah," with a low stuttering husk that curled the hair on his balls.

"Fuck," Rodney gasped, and then Sheppard muttered, breath hot and moist against his neck, "But this now," and it hit Rodney in the gut what Sheppard had thought he meant, that Sheppard had supplied his involuntary expletive with subject and object and prepositional phrase and God only knew what else. But that was the end of rational thought, because Sheppard was rocking into him harder now, they were finding a rhythm and holding it, hard throbbing dick to hard throbbing dick, and Rodney could feel his balls drawing up, could feel the tightness in his gut, oh yes fuck good. Their pace was frantic now, arch and rub and push, and Sheppard was making a choking sound in his throat as he ground down into him, holy _fuck_ this was good, and Rodney felt his mouth fall open as he swallowed air and oh oh oh—

Sheppard made that choking noise again, right in his neck this time, and wham wham wham his hips bucked against Rodney's, and it struck him what was happening, that Sheppard was actually coming, coming in his pants as he rubbed against him, that it was happening at this very moment, the warm wet drench, the—

"Fuck," he whimpered again, and groaned loud and low as his own dick exploded, Sheppard's fingers tight on his arms now, they were rocking through it, rocking through it, so sweet and good, the back of his eyes was stinging from it, it was so sharp, and oh oh fuck.

Sheppard half rolled, half fell off him. They lay there on the floor for long moments, panting for breath, watching the ceiling spin, and for the life of him Rodney could not think what to do next. Not for the life of him. No clue. _Sorry, variables do not compute_, his brain offered unhelpfully before it sputtered to a halt and died.

"So," Sheppard said, his voice scratchy and too-loud in the still room, and Rodney, who had seen Sheppard fight the Wraith hand-to-hand and fly a spaceship into a nuclear explosion, knew that this was his moment of greatest bravery. Knew it and hated himself for his own cowardice. He rolled over and away from Sheppard, curling his legs up. Okay, wet and uncomfortable, yes, but he could change as soon as Sheppard left.

"Just go," he said. "Take the fucking book and go." He swallowed again. "You win."

Sheppard was silent behind him, and Rodney shut his eyes against the sheer awfulness of it, against the wreckage of their friendship, against the hollowness in his gut that meant there was a high probability he would indeed be vomiting in the next ten to fifteen minutes. Sheppard did not seem to be moving, but after a minute he did, and Rodney could hear him slowly pushing himself up. But then he seemed to stop, and next thing Rodney knew there was a heavy hand on his upper arm, and it was pulling at him, pulling him onto his back, turning him over, and the hazel eyes over him were filled with nothing but a kind of warm puzzlement.

"Yes, I do," he was saying. "But you know what? I think I might have skipped ahead a little. How about. . ." the eyes dropped, casting about. "How about we go back to chapter one for a minute." And then, without warning, Sheppard was lowering his head, and Rodney could not actually figure out what he was doing until the very second Sheppard's lips met his.

_Soft hard warm wet dry stubble oh!_ his brain said, as it sparked back to life. His mouth opened beneath Sheppard's completely on its own, and the moan as Sheppard's tongue licked and tangled in his came from some other person entirely.

"Oh," he said in surprise, when his mouth was his own again.

"Yeah," Sheppard said, ruefully.

"Well."

"Well."

"So, um. . ." Rodney began. "Just so you know. Um. This is not exactly, you know, a _genre_ I'm familiar with. I'm probably not as. . . well-read as you."

The smirk was back at the corner of Sheppard's mouth, but it was softer now. "I think you may have an inaccurate picture of my reading habits, Rodney."

"Oh."

"You know. . ."

"Yes? I know what?"

"I was just going to say, if you read something you don't much like, you don't have to finish it." Sheppard's eyes were on his collarbone, and Rodney reflected that Teyla may have been right about that bravery after all, because the next thing he knew his hand was on Sheppard's cheek, not so much stroking as thumbing the mystery of somebody else's stubble.

"No," he said thoughtfully. "I don't. But this. . . well, I don't know. It's not something I would usually read, but the plot is. . . compelling. I find myself wondering – what happens next?"

Sheppard's hand came up and covered his, just lightly. "You do, huh?"

"I do at that."

"Well. Okay then. And I'm kind of wondering. . ."

"Yes?"

"I'm kind of wondering about going back to my favorite part for a minute." He lowered his head again, and Rodney met him halfway this time, pushing into Sheppard's mouth, tasting. . . tasting _heat_, was the only way to describe it, like hot pavement under his tongue, sharp and rough and unbearably good.

Rodney let his head fall back with a thunk against the floor. "I have a confession," he said, suppressing his grin with difficulty.

"Oh?"

"I sort of peeked ahead a little bit. I know what happens."

"You do, huh? What's the ending like?" Sheppard's hand was slowly insinuating itself under his shirt, which should have been shocking, terrifying really, but the warm drawl lulled him.

Rodney shifted and met his eyes full-on. "Surprising," he said.

The hand stilled. "But good?"

Rodney tilted his head up, looking for those lips again. "Amazing."

He felt Sheppard grin into his mouth, stretching over him, relaxing into it, and Rodney flipped the switch on the part of his brain that was saying _out of sticky clothes now!_ and just went with it. He closed his eyes and sank into it, pretending not to notice the arm stretching behind him, fingers scrabbling to reach the book.

"Put your name on the list, Major," he said, pulling his mouth free.

"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Well, don't be discouraged. I think you could edge out Nguyen, actually. I mean," he brought the questing arm back and placed it firmly on his chest, "I'm not saying I don't like your chances."


End file.
